


Salvation from Within the Flames

by AskHisDisciple (PisceanQueen)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Gen, Other, Tentacles, but not the kind you're thinking of, even though the dork doesn't know it, very faint pale crush but it's there, you little scamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PisceanQueen/pseuds/AskHisDisciple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flaming battleship falls from the sky and crashes hard in an empty field. The Signless does his best to rescue whomever is inside before the flames consume them.</p><p>(This is my tale of how the Signless met the Psiionic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation from Within the Flames

He was almost seven when they came to take him away.

Captor always knew he was special because the other ochre-blooded children his age didn’t have anywhere near his psionic capabilities. He was praised and applauded and told that they were sure the Imperial Academy would pick him, and he had to be the best there was! It’d be a great honor! He’d be a legend in their tiny colony. To say it didn’t fill the young boy with a twinge of pride would be an understatement. A few of the children even followed him around out of admiration.

Usually when hatched, ochre-blooded wigglers were registered through their DNA profiles by the jade-blooded brood keepers in an attempt to keep them under control later in life. The Empire constantly collected data, no matter how useless it might seem, on every single troll hatched. Each wiggler with mental abilities was generously provided housing in pre-determined locations depending on what future use they might serve. Ochre-bloods were often gifted with incredible powers, even if they weren’t up to the level of young Captor, and the Empire always had use for the psychically gifted.

It was the end of the dim season when everything changed for the worse.

The town hall suddenly went up in a ball of flames as soon as the sun set one evening, just as everyone was waking up. Villagers were helping to put out the blaze, unsure of what exactly happened, when the Imperial Militia appeared at the outskirts of town. Most of the children ran and hid in their hives, clinging to their lusii. It was a natural reaction when Highbloods appeared. Stories of the brutal violence and strength left in the wake of a Highblood’s warpath always spread like wildfire through entire colonies of Lowbloods and Midbloods. Any sane troll knew to hide. Two lines of cerulean and indigos, along with a few purples, escorted a transport vehicle through the main thoroughfare of the small village, many laughing with one another about the hysteria they had caused, and all of them sporting devious expressions that promised pain and torture to all they looked upon. Children dared a peek out of hive windows for a better look despite their best interests. It wasn’t often they had visitors, even if they were violent monsters, and the curiosity was hard to quell. Elder trolls hid wherever they could. The infirm and weak were always picked off for target practice if they were found. There was no place left for them on Alternia in the minds of the Highbloods. What more use could one give the Empire with a back weak and broken from hard labor?

Imperial order had been handed down to “harvest the village,” and loyal soldiers were always eager to help reap a good crop of scum-blooded wrigglers. From a loudspeaker mounted on the roof of the transport vehicle, names began to be called out for wrigglers to report for duty to the Imperial Academy by order of the Empress. Those wrigglers on the list and not already culled were told to exit their hives and line up with their lusii. Captor was shocked to hear his name, wholly unaware he’d been dutifully catalogued by a jade-blood when he was found in the center of a smoking crater in the Brooding Caverns nearly seven sweeps prior. Taking his brutish two-headed lusus by a large hand the two of them exited their decaying domicile. Children from his ochre caste, along with those of maroon and brown blood, all lined up side by side as instructed. Lusii were herded off to the side with the prod of bayonetted laser rifles. Captor stole a wave at his lusus, and even a little smile, who managed one in return to his young charge, but the ochre-blood noticed something off about the gesture; an air of melancholy. Doomed whispers began to turn to screams in the young boy’s ears, voices only he could hear, and he looked among the other children, nervous. He knew something would happen. They all knew.

As soon as every child was accounted for a humongous indigo blood gave the signal to his companions. Rifles were slung over shoulders and the thirty or so lusii were slaughtered where they stood. The children screamed in horror as their lifelong companions were laid low. A maroon-blooded girl ran towards her dying lusus, a once graceful deer, and wept over her. A Highblood grabbed her by her horns and swung her back through the air to land rough in the dirt between her peers. She didn’t stay down for long. Within moments of getting back up she turned her psychic powers on the Highbloods, glaring them down, hurtling rocks and rubble at them with her mind with great force. After injuring two soldiers the very same rifle that killed her lusus laid her low as well amid the shrill screams of her peers. Captor wept. He now knew better than to act out against the Highbloods as he watched the young girl’s eyes glaze over in death. His breaths came short and staggered. He had to force himself to calm down.

The children were herded onto the transport vehicle and they each found their seats. Most were still in tears, a few were angry, some huddled together for comfort. Captor just wiped his eyes and sat in his seat, glaring out the window. He was enraged.

One of the Highbloods stepped into the bus, looking back behind him and laughing.

“Yeah, go nuts, there’s mostly only elders left anyway.”

The door closed and the chaperone sat in the front of the transport, facing his charges. Outside the windows the patrols of Highbloods started firing into the village, killing everyone they could find. Some tried to flee, only to be picked off from other Highbloods on flying lusii. It was a bloodbath, and the ruins of the town were soon painted in a drab palette of colored blood. Captor refused to cry. He got mad, instead. He was little. He knew that. He knew there was no chance in hell he’d be able to take them all on as little more than a wriggler. Instead, he’d play their games as long as he had to. He’d grow up and become the best of his caste. That’s what they wanted, right? And then? When they least expected it? He’d lay waste to all of them in one fell swoop.

It took several hours to reach their destination. The Academy was menacing, cold and gray stone, with troops marching in formation outside the compound. In the distance, through the tinted windows of the transport, Captor could see those from his caste performing complicated maneuvers with massive objects limned in red and blue sparks. Glowering he imagined how many Highbloods he could kill if he dropped things on their air-filled heads.

“Hey.”

Captor’s attention turned towards the front of the vehicle, as did all the other children’s, to the scowling cerulean.

“If I start feeling those treasonous thoughts again I’ll start culling til they quiet down… You all wanna end up like that rust-blooded runt? Bleeding in the dirt like a mangy barkbeast?”

An empath. He’d heard of them before, when his only experiences with Highbloods were whispered night time stories. Captor knew then that he’d have to be careful in his resistance to his fate. He’d have to bide his time. That was okay though. He had lots of time to train and prepare. And when he was ready…

 

-

 

The ceremony was pompous and lavish, overly decorated and exquisitely catered, and more extravagant than almost all of its attendance had ever seen in their short lives. All the students were required to wear their caste’s formal attire, branded with their signs and blood colors in elegant designs, and the idea of joining the forces of the Empire almost excited them. They’d finally be given a chance to prove themselves. Maybe even make a name for them. Smiles graced nearly every gray face in the crowd. In comparison the few Highbloods in attendance looked as though they had been punished. And in actuality they had been by superior officers. No one wanted to celebrate the lowlifes, but putting on a show of respect seemed to make them a little more malleable. As the brown-blooded headmaster handed over his certificate and shook hands with Captor, the top of the class, there were cheers from the crowd from the few friends the youth had managed to make during his stay at the Academy. No longer a scrappy child, Captor grown tall and lean and lanky, and despite his sharp features, awkward teeth, and even more awkward lisp, he’d won over a heart or two. A few whistles came forth from the audience. He smirked at them, threw a coy wink, full of piss and vinegar and self-confidence at his hard-earned achievements, and then left the stage to retake his seat as all the other names were finally called.

He didn’t bother staying for the lavish graduation party, the one that everyone had heard legends about ( _everyone_ would fill a quadrant that night, they all said,) and instead Captor opted for quiet rest in his respiteblock with a mixed drink from the buffet table. He took a few sips as he walked and quietly wondered how much longer it would be before he was commissioned for work. Not very long after _that_ flashy fucking display on stage. Head of the class? He’d have job offers left and right, surely.

Looking out the window at the green moon he recalled the plans he had made all those sweeps earlier. He had planned his revenge in secret, doing his best to keep his mind blank around any Highblood he encountered. His goal was to do as much damage as possible before they could kill him. He’d avenge his lusus and those peers who had been culled before they had a chance at life. Captor would go out with a bang.

It wasn’t long before he found his private quarters. Ducking inside (and at his height he had to) he closed the door behind him and he yawned from the long and eventful day. He reflected on his sweeps of training; lessons in control for the most part. It gave him an edge in his personal exploits. He’d come up with techniques on his own, such as throwing blasts of mind energy like balls of lightning, target practice with levitated blades, or using his strange bifurcated eyes to beam something into rubble. He could make temporary fields of energy around himself to fend off rifle fire or projectiles and this was something he took great care to hide. That was the best and worst ability of all… when a Highblood knew they couldn’t control their peons they got trigger happy. They’d keep firing til they could hit him.

Captor’s most important power of all granted him the ability to fly. He loved the sensation of the night breeze whipping by his face and threading into his bristly hair. The times he flew were the times he held close to his pusher. They were his few last chances to be free. He knew that one day he may never feel that breeze on his face again for he knew well what happened to those of his caste assigned as helmsmen. Without much warning his eyelids grew heavy and he stumbled over to his recuperacoon to sleep. It had really been a long day; much longer than he’d thought.

They came for Captor as he slept, knocking open his door and dragging him from the sopor slime. They washed and dressed him and dragged him through several hallways while the calming effect of the slime still had its debilitating hold on him. Something else had a grip on him as well, he realized through the haze. Soon he was led into a room and thrown in a chair, chained and shackled, and a floodlight blared at him, causing him to wake up enough to shield his eyes.

“…The fuck? What ith thith? What’th going on?” he managed.

“Graduate Captor,” a deep and cold voice intoned. He recognized it. It was an indigo drill sergeant he particularly loathed.

“Yeah?”

“There have been many offers for your services tonight. Your potential employers wish to make their acquaintance with you. If you’re lucky you may even get a job offer.”

“Oh. All right.”

He kept himself stoic, though he would have screamed out in frustration if he knew it wouldn’t get him culled. That drink from the catering table was drugged, he realized. Captor imagined many similar interrogations taking place that night for everyone who graduated.

Several seadwellers, the very templates of cold sophistication, chatted amongst themselves while looking at him like a purrbeast in a cage. He glanced at them in return with eyes tinged with apathy. Captor had never met a seadweller before and the odd and very low hiss of their gills as they breathed the air quickly annoyed the shit out of him. His expression tensed. He had to be patient. They might be his ticket out of there.

One seadweller with short cropped hair was brazen enough to step forward. She was a beautiful woman adorned with jewels not just on her arms and fingers, but throughout her hair. She looked like one of those fancy dolls the girls in his village were always pining over. She cupped his chin with an ice-cold hand and her skin felt like cold rubber to the touch. It took everything within Captor’s power to not flinch away.

She looked back towards the drill sergeant.

“I like him. His eyes are compelling and feisty. How much is he?”

“ _…How much?_ ” Captor repeated and she looked at him in surprise, as if not expecting him to know how to speak. The indigo blood stepped forward and used all his force to backhand the psionic until a stream of yellow blood spilled from his lips.

The seadweller looked offended for a moment until the indigo wiped the blood from the chained Captor’s lips with a large thumb that tasted like paperwork.

“We will see to it that any injury heals well before he’s turned over to you my lady, but as for price…”

The psionic had difficulty finding out what he was worth through the pain. It was a ransom though. A pirate’s fortune of riches which he had no doubt his potential owners had access to. Captor was fucking _expensive_. Should he even be proud of that? But he was being sold as a slave like a hoofbeast at auction. He’d always had his suspicions about the Academy and all the commercials he’d seen for it… now they were confirmed. This secret was kept well  from the general population.

Now it was Captor’s last chance to resist before ending up a brainless machine in some rich finned bitch’s ship. He could see that now. So he took it.

His eyes sparked and flashed so fast they almost went purple. The upper class seadwellers squealed in fright as the heavy metal table in the room began to throw itself around against the walls, crashing against other furniture, smashing light fixtures and showering sparks, and slamming into people. Captor raged as hard as he could, injuring one of the royal bastards before getting knocked into blackness by the indigo blood. He didn’t wake for four days.

When he did, he was upright in a ship, his arms held above him, violet tentacles surrounding his limbs. Captor’s forehead throbbed with dull pain. He found he couldn’t move and began to panic, not so much verbalizing his distress as crying out in fear with garbled words. Unfamiliar faces surrounded him as he stared at the interior of the vessel through specially designed goggles. They all remarked on his progress in light tones, chatted amongst themselves, adjusted settings on their holographic screens, and jotted down notes about him. Captor tried hard to lash out at them with his powers but found them muted and subdued.

For a few minutes that felt like sweeps, all was calm. Then the tentacles began to burrow through his skull, wrapping around his face, and _embeddin_ g into his forehead. With horror he realized that they were _plugging into him_ … there had been an interface surgically implanted in his brow that allowed direct access to his brainwaves. He had no idea when they had done that to him. Frantically he searched for his last memories. The last thing he could remember was—

All thoughts left his mind as the programming, and mind-altering medications, began to seep into his skull, dulling his thinkpan. His awareness clouded and he went limp. Drool pooled on his lips but a crewmember helpfully righted his head. He hardly felt her touch… instead he felt a part of something very _unusual_ ; a higher consciousness perhaps or a large piece of a very complicated network. It was as though his very being had turned into something else entirely. Commands were soon sent to him to lift his surroundings. He had the ability to move himself and the ship surrounding him with absolute ease, the onboard computers correcting for flaws in his abilities with thrusters. Cameras around the vessel gave him a three-hundred and sixty degree view of the ship and streamed the video feed directly to his ocular devices. The young psionic was an engine now; a helmsman. He had taken the first step on the journey towards his demise.

“Don’t worry miss,” one of the crewmen cheerily turned to the female seadweller who bought him, “he’ll be up and running within the hour.”

“Excellent,” she grinned, toying with a strand of deep black hair.

 

-

 

The Signless was running back to camp when the Imperial Cruiser fell from the sky and burst into flames less than a mile away from his location. The way it had tossed about in the air spelled trouble, even he could tell that, and he had no doubt it was going to plummet to the ground. The shockwave of the impact threw him from his feet with a yelp of surprise and he landed hard on his ass, scraping an elbow in the process. Undeterred, he gritted his teeth, shook his head, and started to run again, legs pumping like pistons. He had to know if his mother was all right. She hadn’t been too far away.

When he made it back to camp the Dolorosa was there, unharmed, but she pointed towards the open field and the both of them started to approach the rising flames. The two of them argued the point for a short time before Signless growled and took off on his own towards the flaming wreckage, intent on going inside. There could be survivors in there. He couldn’t let them die like animals. No one deserved that kind of death.

With a leap Signless made it on top of one of the fiery wings of the twisted metal vessel, running up it to the emergency hatch which had been blown off its hinges by the pressure of the explosion. Just not giving a shit about his own safety he ran inside and pulled his cloak over his mouth to breathe through the smoke and the acrid scent of spilt blood. He saw four crewmembers who groaned when he shook them, three Highbloods and one maroon, and dragged them out onto the grass of the plains leaving the Dolorosa to tend to them. His mother wasted no time. Signless didn’t stop despite the ever-increasing flames, rushing back in just as soon as he emerged. Terrified screams of pain and confusion got his attention and he ran over the mangled bodies of those less fortunate to find the one who still needed him.

Signless knew deep down the caste he would find when he got to the control room. He had been told by his mother once that the psionic members of the ochre caste were often abducted and embedded in battleships of the elite as living engines, after enduring complex neurosurgeries to implant tech in their thinkpans to hook up to nearly any ship. This would be no different. He had no idea what he’d find when he got there.

There were strangled screams as the pilot’s consciousness had come back to him. The ship was feeling pain. So was he. Signless knew he had to get him out as fast as possible or the biotech’s agony would overload his mind and kill him.

As predicted the pilot was writhing and moaning, absolutely powerless to remove himself from his situation. Violet tentacles and sparks of electricity snapped all around the pilot, causing him further distress. Trudging through chemical slime and climbing up towards the helpless troll, flames around them both, the Signless began to tear away the slimy tendrils, not caring much about how much it hurt the psionic. Signless was pretty sure being burned alive would probably hurt the poor bastard far more than anything _he_ did.

It took a few minutes to free him, and his sickle made short work of the rest of the tentacles, and soon the Signless had the helmsman down before him. Pausing to try and breathe amid the smoke he hefted the taller troll, his long thin arm draped around his shoulders, and did his best to drag him out. The original entrance was now completely blocked by flames. He could hear Mother Maryam shouting for him from outside the ship. He had to find another way.

Heading to the opposite side of the ship he found half of it was open to the cool night air. All he had to do was hop down… about twelve feet. They’d both break something if they hit the ground like that. Signless slapped the cheek of his victim and shook him on his shoulders. He was barely responsive and Signless panicked.

“C’mon man, I know you can do the floaty thing. Can you get us down? I just need a little help!”

The pilot struggled, groaned, and the two of them were enveloped in lazy blue and red light… Even though he had no idea if it was working Signless took his chances and leapt with the stranger to the ground. He’d sort out injuries later, just so long as they weren’t burning to cinders in a flaming wreck. They floated down halfway before the psionic troll’s power – and consciousness – gave out and they both tumbled hard into the grass. The night breeze was fresh and cool and Signless coughed hard, getting the ashy air from his lungs and frantically slapping the edges of his cloak on the ground to put out a small lick of flame he hadn’t noticed eating away at it. Too close. The smell of the burnt fabric was unpleasant.

Signless didn’t stop, however. He dragged the pilot around the ship to meet his mother… she stood by the four other trolls who had succumbed to unseen internal injuries. Blood was everywhere, painting her lovely clothes and dyeing the ground different hues of brown. The Dolorosa rushed to their side and helped her son with his cargo, her delicate arms concealing surprising strength.

Together they carried the ochre-blood back to the woods as quickly as possible. They packed as much as they could and started off into the forest with the ochre-blood in tow between them. They’d have to make their way below ground before the Highbloods caught up with them, as they’d no doubt find the wreckage soon.

For two days they traveled in darkness, covering their tracks, keeping away from open spaces, until the Dolorosa found a cave for them to slip into. It was cold and wet inside, but safe, and they carefully laid their still unconscious survivor on the cold stone, a folded blanket under his head for support.

“I cannot believe he still has not woken up yet…” the Dolorosa breathed.

Her son cringed, a pang of emotion hitting him, “Look at all that shit they put in his head… They probably _broke_ him…”

She sighed in agreement, “For now just tend to his wounds… I have got new bandages in the bags. You should change those he has on right now, dear, they are looking a little rough.”

“Right.”

Mother Maryam set about making the two of them a small meal of preserved meat and unleavened bread while watching as her son cleaned the pilot’s injuries with a cloth wet from his canteen. Signless honestly couldn’t believe the trauma. Each of the other troll’s arms had wounds reluctant to close showing where the violet tendrils had slinked under the psionic’s skin. He must have been in _constant_ pain…

After they had eaten, Signless and the Dolorosa rested, eyes closed in repose, and that’s when the psionic troll woke up. He stared at the ceiling, unable to move his head on his own; unable to remember how. It wasn’t the ship. Where was he? It was far too cold. There was a damp smell in the air. He could hear water dripping every few moments soft and faint in the distance. The pitch of the dripping was different than the one in the helm.

The pilot started to open his mouth to call out but nothing but dry air passed his lips. He’d forgotten how to speak. Instead he rasped, trying to work his mouth to form words. He found he was tremendously thirsty. His lips were cracked and dry.

Signless awoke not long after hearing the raspy noises, rubbing his bloodshot red eyes, and looked towards the rescued troll to check on him. The pilot’s eyes were open, thank the gods. All other thoughts fled and Signless rushed to his side and offered him a sip from the canteen, lifting him up by his back, being very careful to avoid the wounds there.

“Easy now. You okay?”

The pilot took a moment to let the water whet his tongue before swallowing. He glanced to his benefactor and looked into his eyes, pausing with confusion at the color.

“What the fuck happened?” he rasped.

“Your ship crashed into an empty field. I ran in and dragged you out when I heard you screaming… and I think you were the only survivor. Everyone else I found still breathing died from their wounds or smoke inhalation. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

The Signless didn’t expect a satisfied grin to be the reaction he got from the ochre-blood.

“That’s what you wanted?”

The pilot nodded once and then tried to shift into a sitting position. He found he couldn’t.

“…Help me.”

“Oh. Right. Here,” the Signless complied, shifting the newcomer against the wall, putting the blanket behind his head again, “after all that they did to your body I can’t imagine it’s easy to move anymore.”

The pilot nodded with a bit of effort. How long had it been since he walked, anyway? Sweeps? His limbs were frail and atrophied despite the helmsman life support system’s piss-poor attempt at muscular stimulation. He could probably still float if he tried, but at that moment he didn’t want to do much of _anything_.

Signless smiled, attempting to be friendly, “Mother prepared some broth for you in case you woke up. It should still be warm. We kept a heated stone in the pot. Would you like some? You really should eat something.”

He really hadn’t eaten anything aside from nutrient paste tubed down his throat hours before the crash. Again the pilot gave a small nod and watched the red-eyed troll go about his work for a moment before closing his eyes again. How long _had_ he been on that ship? Without the system clock in the corner of his vision he had no idea even what perigee it was, much less what day. He felt older.

The cloaked troll held up a wooden spoon filled with broth and the helmsman’s eyes opened at the smell. An eager smile and strange red eyes greeted him. Hesitantly the spoon was held to his lips and he drank the thin soup. It filled him with comfort despite the lack of any real flavor. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a hot meal. The troll before him, whom he noted held no visible sign, was all too ready to help him recover. In the back of the cave a beautiful female troll slept, elegant in her jade clothing. Her sign was that of… a _broodkeeper?_ What was she doing away from the caverns? Perhaps these two were some sort of strange matesprits.

“If you’re up to it tomorrow I can help you try to walk again. It would be best to get those legs moving.”

The psionic glanced back over to the other troll before him and studied him a good while.

“…Why do you care?”

“Well, why _wouldn’t_ I?” came his easy reply.

“Becauth. Thath not exacthly what trollth do… Cull the weak, remember?”

The Signless laughed, a little at the lisp, a little at the idea of it all, “Sorry, but that’s not how my lusus raised me.”

The helmsman didn’t have the energy to question him further. He would just assume the worst for now. Once he got walking again maybe he’d be able to use his powers. He could fly far away from there, find a deserted isle, and eke out a meager living. Escape seemed really nice.

“Dear, has he awoken?” a calm and halting voice carried from the back of the cave. There was a hint of fatigue in the voice.

“Oh. Yes, mother, he has.”

The beautiful troll approached, much older than the Signless, but still a graceful sight to behold. She knelt before the psionic troll and smiled, small creases forming at the sides of her eyes, and she ran her hand gently down the side of his face in a comforting gesture. He closed his eyes, relaxing.

“I am glad you are all right. We will both take care of you until you are ready to make it on your own.”

“…Yeah but, Mother, we’re going to take him with us right? I mean… if they catch him again they’ll just jam him back in a ship.”

She looked back to her son and whispered, a subtle underlying message in her voice, “We cannot take him with us, Signless.”

Her son scowled, his voice carrying a little more than necessary, “Why not? Don’t you think they’ll be looking for _him_ too?”

“Well… yes, but…”

“I can handle myselthf,” the pilot added, irritated and far too exhausted to deal with his own future, “I don’t want to travel with anyone.”

The two looked back at him and he averted his gaze, quickly closing his eyes and falling back asleep.

 

-

 

Over the next week the helmman’s rehabilitation went well. He was able to walk soon enough, though now and then he had to lean on the Signless’ shoulder just to keep upright. He’d gained a little weight thanks to the Dolorosa’s cooking, along with a few sweets she carried. The glucose always helped his brain but he’d still have killed for just a drop of mind honey. Then he’d really be back on his feet. He put up with the Signless’ questions, trying not to get irritated with the one who climbed into a burning ship to rescue him. The pilot supposed he owed it to the strange mutant.

The one thing that eluded him was the relationship between the two trolls before him. The Dolorosa, Maryam was her surname, was more like a guardian to the Signless, scolding him for his behavior here and there, comforting him when he needed it. The psionic troll wondered if it was some sort of quadrant-based perversion. The pilot had access to the internet before. That he could remember. He was sure there was a website dedicated to this weird fetish _somewhere_ out there if that’s what this was.

Finally, a few days after when it _really_ started to bother him, he got up the nerve to ask as they sat under the trees, only to find they were all too happy to explain.

“She raithed you from a _grub?_ ”

“Yes. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been when it came time for me to spin my cocoon,” he laughed, “staying in one place long enough for me to emerge must have been terrifying.”

The Dolorosa shook her head, she really didn’t want to think about that stress again.

“Tho… she’th like your luthus.”

“ _Like?_ She _is_ my lusus. I’m her wriggler. She’s my mother. You know… like the wild beasts and their offspring?” another laugh, “I guess I’m the strangest offspring of all.”

The helmsman shook his head. So weird. It certainly explained why she was a Jade-blood and he was off the spectrum. She had fled the caverns when she saw he’d be culled for his blood color. What drove her to do something like that? Wasn’t it her job to kill grubs like that? …Though, the idea of killing a grub repulsed even him. He couldn’t imagine a job in dealing death to those undeserving and unable to defend themselves. Or, for that matter, a job where you’d have to sign a grub like himself up to become a goddamned helmsman later in life. He would have ran from job that as well.

“…I’m sorry, I know we’ve been talking for over a week, but this has really been bothering me… you never told me your name and I _really_ don’t want to call you Helmsman anymore.  Mother calls me Signless though, as I’m sure you’ve heard, but when we’re in town I go by Vantas. What’s your actual name?”

“I… really don’t remember my name. They…wiped motht of that away, I think. They usethd pretty powerful drugth on me.”

“Oh.”

“I jutht… remember my designathion. Helmsman Engine Unit Thi 1221c: Captor.”

“…Captor, huh? Well. Maybe that’s your surname? Or… your first name?”

The ochre-blood shrugged apathetically. He hadn’t been directly addressed as anything but Helmsman since as long as he could remember… which really wasn’t very far back.

Signless offered his hand, “Well then, Captor… it’s good to finally make your acquaintance.”

Captor had to smirk at that. He shook the hand presented to him and started to rethink his plans to find a magically deserted island somewhere. It’d been a while since anyone treated him as an equal.

“Have you thought of what you’d like to do when you’re well again?”

The question jolted Captor and it took him a moment to formulate his response, “Well… I thought I’d jutht run and hide… thomewhere. Live out my pathetic life thomewhere far from the Highbloodth.”

“…Oh. Well. I suppose that’s an idea. Have you lived on the run before, though?”

Captor shook his head.

“Being on the run isn’t easy. You have to live a completely different way than everyone else. I suppose I could tell you a few tricks but…”

The Dolorosa watched them both with a knowing smile as they chatted. She was sewing something yellow in her lap as she listened and knew her son well enough that she could guess what he would ask the other troll next.

“…Maybe instead of going it on your own… you could come with Mother and me,” he smiled.

The psionic blinked once, staring at him. Signless looked elsewhere, embarrassed at his own request, a red flush on his cheeks. Wow. That had been awkward.

“I mean. It’d be easier than going it alone, don’t you think? And, I mean, we’ve managed to stay alive this long, right? We know the Highbloods and their traps well enough to avoid them. I’d hate to see you get caught just because you hadn’t done this before.”

“Tho… You want me to go with you?”

“Yeah… I mean, only if you _want to_ , of course. No pressure. I totally understand if you’d want to go it on your own. Freedom to go wherever you want is just… something I _dream_ of. You can actually _attain_ it.”

Captor frowned. He at least had the spectrum to fall back on… There were ochre-bloods out there getting by without the yoke of a master around their protein tunnels, surely. He couldn’t imagine not even _registering_ on the spectrum. A mutant... It must be rough, just being kill-on-sight for blood color alone, easily seen in those eyes of his. He could figure out why the Dolorosa took pity on the Signless in the first place all those sweeps ago. He felt a little pity as well.

“I gueth I could... It’th not like I have any other optionth available…”

“…Don’t look at it like that. Look at it as a… a second chance,” the mutant frowned.

“I thuppose.”

Awkwardly Signless added,“…and for what it’s worth… I really don’t blame you for bringing down that ship. I would have too in your situation. I can’t believe those nookwhiffers hook people up like that. I could hardly believe it when Mother told me about it long ago. It’s not right. I’m gonna do something about it, trust me.”

Captor liked this guy already. A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“How the hell are you going to do that?”

“…Ugh. I don’t even know if should tell you,” he paused a moment, “No, I guess I really should. So you can really make up your mind if you want to follow us or not. You probably won’t want to after this.”

He looked back up and the psionic studied him, tilting his head, preparing himself for the worst.

“I… see things.”

“You thee things?”

“Yeah… visions, I guess you would call them? Of another world. This one… but not this one?”

“…I don’t get it.”

“When I dream,” Signless continued, carefully choosing his words, “I dream someone else’s dreams. Dreams from someone I used to _be_ in a former life. The other me lived on Alternia when it wasn’t called that and on that world the hemospectrum didn’t control anyone’s life. If anything, the higher you were on it the more responsibility you had to care for those lower than you. Culling meant coddling, not death,” he smiled a little, “Everyone was equal. People like you and I… we were free to do whatever we wanted with our lives.”

Captor narrowed his eyes, “Tho you’re thaying you thee thomeone elthes memorieth?”

“Yeah. It’s fucked up, I know, and I don’t blame you for the incredulity, but… for the past few sweeps it’s happened almost every night. Sometimes I get confused about which world is real, the visions are so vivid. The other me is a very lonely soul… but he has a few companions who tolerate him. They call me… well, _him_ … another name.  And I can’t seem to _shut up_ over there. I go on and on about disparity and inequality…when really, all I ever was over there was a privileged and coddled child,” Signless furrowed his brow in frustration, “I. _He._ Was so focused on his differences and the differences of others that he never did anything to fix it. He had the opportunity to do something about the disparity he saw and all he did was run his mouth. Maybe he just hadn’t grown up enough by the time he died.”

“That suckth.”

“Yeah but… the world he lived in, it still _worked_. I mean… it had flaws, sure, all governments do, but… those can be ironed out. And thankfully I had a lusus this time around to make sure I didn’t _fuck up_ something terrible and turn out like him. But Captor… I think I can use these visions to _help_ Alternia. I want to help trolls just like you. Like my mother. Like myself,” Signless emphasized, placing a hand over his chest, “I can’t bear to know so many people in this world are suffering because of the hemospectrum; in pain over what they are powerless to change. I want to fix it all for them! I actually want to _do_ something for those in need!”

The psionic troll gauged the sincerity of that statement. His bullshit detector wasn’t blaring any alarms. The Signless really believed in what he saw.

“So…” the mutant continued, “now and then I head to different colonies as Mother and I travel. She’s still not comfortable with letting me go out there alone with this weird blood of mine but to me I have no choice. Why else would I have these visions? I was hatched for a reason and that was to tell people the truth about this fucked up system of oppression and how we can change it. I speak only to those who want to listen. I bring them messages of hope if I’m able to… and a new mindset; one where instead of ignoring our fellow brothers and sisters we help them whenever possible. We should all reach out not for personal gain but to simply help others for the _sake_ of helping, you know? If we spread this kindness across the world…we may even reach the Empress. Can you _imagine_ what would happen if she saw the things I saw? If she saw the hemospectrum work the way it was _supposed_ to? Not as a system of oppression but as one of _responsibility?_ ”

Captor stopped him, hands out. Holy hell the runt sure knew how to _talk_. “ _Lithen._ Lithen. Theth ideath of yourth are… well, very interethting. But they’re inherently _dangerouth._ You think the Highbloodth are going to just let you upend their sythstem of power to benefit people like _me_? We’re the thlaveth. Thlaveth don’t _get_ privelegeth.”

The Signless shook his head, “I know. But it has to change. It really does. If we can get people to see the benefits of working _together_ instead of _under_ one another… maybe we as a race can better ourselves. Maybe we can be like that other world I see. There’s so much potential for our race!”

Captor frowned and looked elsewhere, unsure.

“I know. _I know._ Like I said… you probably won’t want to come along. But I think if you _do_ you’d have a lot to say to the others of your caste. How many of them know what’s in store? Their futures don’t have to be tethered to Highblood ships. Everyone has a right to choose their path in life… Even _you_. _You_ chose to bring down that ship. _You_ chose to take control.”

Again a look of unease washed over Captor’s face. After a long moment of contemplation, there were sparks in his eyes and he began to hover. Signless watched in awe, jaw slack. He’d never seen anything quite like it and was almost too impressed to catch his response.

“I’ll think about it,” the ochre-blood paused, “either way I’ll be back tomorrow to let you know what I dethide,” and Captor floated off into the sky, over the trees and out of sight.

The Dolorosa approached her son then and took him into her arms, cradling his head to her chest as though he were still big enough to hold in the crook of her arm.

“He will come along, dear. I am sure of it.”

“I wish I was,” the Signless replied, his voice shaded with worry.

 

-

 

Signless spent the next day looking at the night clouds while perched on a rock. The woods were quiet and the breeze was calming. He felt at rest for once. The Dolorosa remained in the cave, sewing on a project with great intensity. She’d offer no answers to her son when he asked her what she was doing so he thought his time would be best spent looking for the troll he sort of hoped he had befriended. Signless wanted to prove that he could be trusted; that he was _dedicated_ to helping people like Captor.

In his solitude he had time to think… and, as he often did when pondering thoughts about inequality and the hemospectrum, he had taken one of his mother’s pins out of a fold in his cloak to prick his finger, to watch his blood well up. Cherry red. It was such a bright and _arrogant_ color. Did that mean he was arrogant as well to assume that he could change the minds of his people? Was he really foolish enough to think that anything he said could _ever_ make a difference?

“Huh…It really ith red, ithn’t it?” a voice cut through the night.

Signless looked up and Captor touched down on the ground before him. Hehad returned to give his answer.

“I’m glad you came back,” he replied, suddenly embarrassed and rubbing his fingers together to smear the blood drop. His finger went to his mouth a moment and came out clean, “I wouldn’t blame you if you hadn’t.”

“Nah. I thaid I wath going to give you an anthwer and I alwayth keep my word.”

The mutant nodded.

“Tho… I think I’ll come along.  I thought about it a lot. A whole lot, acthually. You know…” he took a seat beside Signless, who looked up at the taller troll with wide eyes, “when I wath a wiggler… no one ever told me what wath in thtore for me when I grew up. I had no idea that I would be thomeoneth thlave one day. I altho didn’t know the Imperial Academy was really jutht a _glorified thlave farm_ … Then I thought about all the people there I met. It’th only brief glimpthes of memory now, flatheth of fathes… but all of them… they’re the thame as I was. Thomeone hath a collar on their neckth _right now_. I can’t jutht thtand by and let it happen anymore.”

The mutant looked at the ground, troubled, “I can’t imagine a life like that.”

Captor lifted a few rocks with a glance and tossed them aside casually, “And neither could they.  I oughtta expothe the whole thing. Thpread the word, you know?”

The Signless smiled. It was a response he had hoped to hear.

“Look… I can’t promise we can take down that Academy on our own… but we can definitely deal them some damage by exposing their lies. I’ve seen it on TV… the Highbloods tout it as a place for the best of the best –and they’re not lying there! – but they’re only finding the best slaves. If we can stop even one of your caste, or any other caste for that matter, from ending up like you did it’ll be worth it.”

The ochre-blood nodded, a grin touching his lips.

“There you are,” the Dolorosa chimed in, approaching the two of them on the rock, a bundle in her arms, “I had been wondering when you would return, Captor. Here you are,” and she offered him her parcel wrapped loosely in a ratty blanket.

He opened the cloth to look at a fine set of clothes in his blood color coupled with a deep black, his sign emblazoned over most of the shirt, and he smiled genuinely at the jade-blood, baring crooked teeth.

The Signless chuckled, “So that’s why you’ve been silent, Mother. I should have guessed.”

“The poor dear should not go around in slave regalia should he? I am only glad I had the materials in my inventory.”

“I can’t acthept this… I don’t have anything in return for you,” Captor interjected.

“You can repay us both with your company, dear,” she reached up to touch his cheek briefly, wearing a familiar smile, “I think it would be refreshing for you to finally see the world as it really is with friends by your side. Besides, Signless waited for you all evening. He was _so_ worried about you. Friends already with you, I suspect. It would be a pity to cause him any more stress, do you not agree?”

“Mother, oh my _god_ , please… _no_ …” Signless groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.

Captor laughed, deep from his chest, and it felt good to work lungs so unused to all that air.

“I gueth I have to, then. We don’t want him to fret,” he lisped, still grinning.

“No, he has got enough on his plateau as it is. Now that the matter is settled come along you two. We will get you changed, Captor, and then get a meal in you both. We will be leaving on the next sunset; never good to stay in one place for too long.”

“ _Fiiiiine,_ ” Signless groaned as his mother set back towards the cave entrance, then he looked up at his new companion, “ugh, she likes to meddle, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh. I notithed.”

The Signless studied his new friend for a moment, “By the way…”

“Hm?”

“…Has anyone ever told you that you lisp?”

A moment of silence ensued before Captor narrowed his eyes at the Signless. He could feel his snark returning to him.

“…Thut the fuck up and go stuff your protein thute...”

The mutant grinned like an idiot at the wry response, just glad to have a new friend to joke around with, and eagerly followed his mother. The psionic could only laugh behind them in pure amusement as he followed.

This was going to be an interesting journey, he wagered.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I'm Doodle from AskHisDisciple.tumblr!
> 
> First, thank you for reading this! I really hope you enjoyed it. I wrote this about a month ago and it has been in constant edit since then in an effort to make it as perfect as possible.
> 
> Second, speaking of edits, a very very VERY big thank you to Ashley of AskTheIronInfidel.tumblr for Betaing this fic for me. (Ash you are too precious *mwah!*) Without her really great help and advice this fic would have been far less than what it has become. Because of her notes I added. Uh. 2200+ words to the piece? (Sorry. Not sorry.)
> 
> Third, I will be writing more Ancestor fic soon. Plans include a Disciple and Psiionic story regarding their rocky relationship in the beginning, another Darkleer fic, and one about the Condesce. Still in planning stages but they will eventually get there! Please look forward to them!
> 
> As a note, all of my fic are tied into the same timeline I've created. If you're interested, so far it is "No Return" >This piece > "The First Meeting" > "The Constellation" > "The Vision" > "Reflections on my No Doubt Imminent Demise" > "What Happened to Us" > "End of Exile" ...this is a temporary order, of course, as I'll be adding a few fics in between in the future, but for now this is the time line! I hope you enjoy those as well
> 
> Again, thanks for reading! Please let me know if you liked this. Comments are always welcomed and held very dear to my heart! ♥


End file.
